


And the Flowers Bloomed Within Me

by et_cant_phone_home_no_signal



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, Love realised too late, M/M, Sad, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, i made myself sad writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/et_cant_phone_home_no_signal/pseuds/et_cant_phone_home_no_signal
Summary: Jaskier coughed, retching and stumbling off of the shoddy road as his gut got worse. Wheezing, he spat out the full blooms that had gotten stuck in his throat. He knew he was fucked, had known it ever since Geralt had agreed to the dragon hunt. His instincts were usually correct.“Fuck this, fuck these flowers… Fuck you Geralt.”He wiped his mouth and spat out the final petals clinging to his tongue. He kept walking.-Or, Jaskier has Hanahaki disease and it doesn't end well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 279





	And the Flowers Bloomed Within Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I wrote this for @paladin.art00 and @shaynamichael on instagram based off of paladin's beautiful artwork of Jaskier dead due to Hanahaki disease :')
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”_

-

Jaskier coughed, retching and stumbling off of the shoddy road as his gut got worse. Wheezing, he spat out the full blooms that had gotten stuck in his throat. He knew he was fucked, had known it ever since Geralt had agreed to the dragon hunt. His instincts were usually correct.

“Fuck this, fuck these flowers… Fuck you Geralt.”

He wiped his mouth and spat out the final petals clinging to his tongue. He kept walking.

-

Three weeks had passed since the mountain incident, as Jaskier had started to call it privately. Three weeks since Geralt told him to fuck off out of his life. Three bloody weeks of the flowers in his lungs getting worse. There weren’t many things that got Jaskier down in life, but this problem- no. This Disease, was bringing Jaskier’s mood down to the absolute pits of despair. He’d heard of Hanahaki Disease before, of course he had, he had been a student at Oxenfurt. He’d witnessed people suffering at its hand before and, one time, it had grasped him softly when he fell for an extraordinarily beautiful maiden. He’d gotten cured of course, his feelings utterly removed together with the flowers starting to take to his lungs. He was young and uncaring to settle back then. But this was worse, much worse.

What was worse than the choking and retching however, worse than the pain gripping his lungs and throat at every given second, was that he had no intention of getting cured this time round. He knew he couldn’t. Jaskier the bard, the one and only Julian Alfred Pankratz, viscount de Lettenhove, would refuse to give up his feelings for Geralt of Rivia. Even if it would kill him. Which it would. Crap.

“Oh come on, all you need to do is go to a decent healer and ask them for the special brew! It’s not that hard, or that expensive…”

He tapered off, knowing full well he wouldn’t go to a healer. He was too proud, and too angry at Geralt. And despite his anger… He still loved the witcher. The proof sat deeply rooted in his lungs, slowly filling them and choking him. ‘Like an archespore delving into the ground and uprooting the ground’, he thought. Grimacing, he immediately shook his head.

“God, no, that was awful, even by my standards.”

He coughed into his hand and found blood on the roots and petals. Hmm, maybe he’d go to the coast. 

-

He wouldn’t make it to the coast. Jaskier was only a few days walk away, but he knew he just wouldn’t make it. The roots had properly set in a few hours ago and walking was absolute agony. Breathing came in short, wheezing bouts that rattled the thorny vines stuck in his throat. Put shortly, he was in absolute agony. He managed to throw up only twice whilst setting up a shoddy camp in the field he’d stopped in, and somehow even got a fire going. That was something at least.

“Fuck, where’s my water-”

He broke off, hacking violently and throwing up more blood and flowers, some with roots still attached. Wheezing, he sat heavily next to his lute.

“Nevermind I guess, can’t keep it down anyhow.”

Jaskier remained silent for a while, staring into the fire and drifting into his mind. Every now and then he’d cough viciously and be torn from his thoughts, but finding little strength to do anything at all, he soon drifted back. His mind strayed into dangerous territory. The way Geralt cleans his swords, his brooding by the fire, the occasional small smile, just a slight lifting of the mouth, but a smile nonetheless when Jaskier made a particularly good joke. He thought of the way Geralt came back from a hunt with wild hair and black eyes, expecting to be shunned and receiving nothing but care from Jaskier instead. Geralt filled his mind, and he wouldn’t leave. It took him a while to realise he was crying, only noticing when the cool evening wind hit his face and made the tracks sting like mint on the tongue. He knew… He knew…

-

Come morning the air was still. Birds were as vocal as ever and dew dripped off the grass. Geralt inhaled deeply and let it out in a puff. He closed his eyes for a moment before shaking himself and spurring Roach on further. He felt bad for her, having pushed her to keep walking and trotting through the night. He’d give her a proper brush down and plenty of oats later. For now though, he was making his way to the coast, his best bet at finding his… At finding Jaskier.

A sudden sharp smell caught his attention. He cast his eyes over the field next to the road, well used to the smell of blood. Peering into the morning sun, he spotted something lying in the field, probably the source of the blood. He guided Roach toward it, might as well burn the body of whatever unlucky soul died out there before the necrophages got to it. He approached slowly, eyeing the body lazily. But a feeling of dread caught him in the gut the closer he got. The figure looked oddly… familiar? A man, wearing bright red trousers and a grey chemise and is that a lute…?

Geralt’s heart stopped.

He couldn’t breathe. There’s no way… Geralt didn’t so much as dismount Roach as fall off her. Staggering, he made his way over to J- the body. He couldn’t be sure it was Jaskier, the back was turned and he couldn’t see the man’s face. It was a man, he had the shape. But it couldn’t be…

Geralt came around to the front of the body and went white as a sheet.

He stood there, still in shock, staring at Jaskier’s pale face. Stared at his empty eyes, not yet turned milky. At the tears that still stained his face. At the blood and… petals? Blood and petals spilled out of his mouth, which was still slightly ajar. Flowers, roots, petals… Geralt gasped and went down to his knees. He’d been asked to cure Hanahaki disease a few times before, the first time he’d been unable to help, without the proper knowledge of the herbs needed to help, but the second time round he’d been more useful. By the third time he’d be asked to help, he’d taken to carrying the herbs in his satchel. If only he’d known… Jaskier only had to ask, he’d have helped with the tea. No matter how annoying the bard always was, he’d never turn him down… Never leave him in pain…

Geralt had no idea how much time had passed, how long he’d sat there on the cold morning grass and stared at his fr- at Jaskier’s dead body. He shook his head. Friend. Jaskier was his friend. He just wished he’d said so sooner, but now he couldn’t… Geralt heaved a breath so heavy it could be mistaken for a sob. He felt his eyes watering and didn’t even bother to stop the tears from leaking down his face. He’d regretted his words, on the mountain, but felt too raw and too proud to go after Jaskier immediately. So he’d waited a week, and then had started to track Jaskier down, remembering what his friend had said about going to the coast. It gave him somewhere to start, somewhere to end maybe. But never to end permanently.

He started crying in earnest then, his tired too-caring heart aching profusely. He knew he’d been lucky with Jaskier, that most humans would never have stuck with him the way he had. He knew, yet he’d taken it for granted, always had.

“Fuck, Jaskier…”

He looked again, saw his friend, his companion lying there motionless, blood and now milky eyes staring somewhere just beyond his shoulder. Started to wonder who the flowers had been for, who could have taken over his heart so quickly and so savagely that he would die like this, so soon after their parting. Maybe on the mountain…

“No… Fuck, Jaskier…”

Geralt broke down, the realisation hitting him like a collapsing tower. He was a blind fool, an idiot. And Jaskier had paid the ultimate price for it. He only wished he could have joined him.

**Author's Note:**

> I almost cried writing this lmao, hope I didn't kill you all too much


End file.
